


The Compliment Cup

by Stressed



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Christmas, First Kiss, M/M, New Year's Eve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-10 00:23:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5561629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stressed/pseuds/Stressed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a new barista starts at Sherlock's favoured coffee shop, he starts appearing in every part of Sherlock's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Cup

It was miserable out, the kind of miserable you only get when it’s supposed to be all quintessentially wintery and instead all you get is driving rain and angry drivers. Christmas lights still hung forlornly from shops and the hospital, the people hurrying along below them no longer the hopeful students on their way home but locals all too accustomed to a winter wash-out. Sherlock whipped over the crossing as he made his way towards the university, all too aware of the traffic moving sluggishly by and still managing to soak his trouser legs with grimy London puddles.

He’d stayed late at NSY, caught up in a tangle of paperwork that apparently just had to be completed before the new year came around. It’s not like he had anything better to do- term didn’t start again for another two weeks, he’d outstayed his welcome at home and apparently murder cases dwindled in the period between Christmas and January. He stepped into the warmth of the coffee shop, hoping he’d at least warm up on the inside even if his clothing was still sopping wet. He wrang out his scarf and smiled wryly at the sheer amount of water that came out of it- perhaps it wasn’t the best of ideas to walk to uni from the Yard.  The wool of his coat was heavy with rain and Sherlock’s curls were dripping idly down the back of his neck. He pointlessly pushed his hands through his hair, trying to push the worst of it off of his face, but it flopped stubbornly down,  splattering his face in yet more damp.

‘Bit soggy aren’t you Sherlock,’ Molly smiled as she stepped up to the counter, watching him slide along the floor until he elegantly reached over the cash desk. She’d already typed in his regular order and signalled to John, the new barista, when she’d seen him pelting along the road outside. ‘I’ve told you before not to go for your long brooding walks in the rain, this isn’t a music video and you’ll just get a cold.’

‘You know cold weather and water don’t give people colds Molly. You’re more at risk from pathogens in here, touching everyone’s dirty money,’ Sherlock replied, and Molly bobbed her head in acknowledgement, palm already out and waiting for Sherlock to fish coins out of the depths of his pockets.

A quiet ‘Woops!’ brought Sherlock’s attention to the other side of the counter, where a young woman was blushing furiously as John wiped his coffee stained hands on his apron. The girl was young, perhaps a first or second year, flicking dark glossy hair over one shoulder as she batted her eyelashes at the barista.

‘So sorry, didn’t mean to spill that over you! You must be so bored of silly girls like me sloshing their drinks everywhere!’ the woman asked, still making no effort to wipe up the mess she’d made of her coffee but staring intently at John. Sherlock could see she was fishing for a compliment, for more of a conversation, for any reason to continue looking at the blonde man, but John had already turned away, his familiar shape now focussed over the coffee machine working on Sherlock’s order.

John had been at the shop for a few weeks but Sherlock hadn’t interacted with him much- Sherlock was often found during the barely-open hours of the morning or the dark and dusky evenings rather than the lunchtime rush John favoured. He’d heard a few titbits from Molly, enough to realise this man must be the John she’d mentioned, but he was still a new sight to watch. ‘This the new man, John, was it?’ he asked, tilting his head towards him as Molly looked up from over the register.

‘Yes, that’s John,’ she smiled, nervously pulling her plait over one shoulder. ‘He’s the one I mentioned before, isn’t he?’

‘Just a few times.’ Sherlock grimaced, remembering the times Molly had gushed over his ‘blonde, really blonde, like sun-kissed blonde’ hair and ‘he’s just so friendly Sherlock, he just smiles all the time, makes it so nice to work there’ personality. It’d been nice when she’d found someone to focus her attentions on that wasn’t Sherlock, but if he had to hear any more about a man he didn’t know, well, that girl’s coffee wouldn’t be the last  one spilled.

‘He’s a medic, y’know. He was working in my lab last year, you know, when I did that project on mast cells? Mind you, he’s just as nice now, not that it diminishes his charm, y’know?’ she shrugged, glancing at the woman who was just now starting to wipe up her spill. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at her as he noticed her cheeks reddening, her eyes dropping back to the desk.

‘Yes, he seems… charming.’ Sherlock muttered, and Molly grinned, her head popping back up to look between the two of them.

‘Well, who wouldn’t be charmed? He’s captain of the rugby team, in his final year so basically a doctor, handsome AND newly single right before New Year. Plus, his ex-girlfriend was the girl everyone loves to hate, remember Mary?’ Molly stated, watching as Sherlock’s eyebrows drew into a frown at the mention of Mary, an altogether too shrill and too demanding girl who’d hung out in the corner of the shop with her posse, mocking everyone.

‘Plus he’s on the LGBT committee, which makes just about everyone think they can flirt with him, especially when he’s an easier guy to talk to than Irene!’ Molly hissed, mentioning their all too sexy and all too aware of it best friend.

‘He’s a chatty one, isn’t he?’ Sherlock remarked, remembering vaguely a short, stocky guy smiling at everyone at the last event Irene had dragged him to. John had been in the corner, handing out drinks and popcorn for the screening of Love Actually.

‘That, and he leaves compliments on people’s coffee sleeves to cheer them up, and if it’s not that it’s latte art, and if it’s not that he at least remembers everyone who has been in here once or twice.’ Molly smiled fondly at John, watching him tap the machine almost reverently.

‘What’s the point?’ Sherlock questioned, wondering why on Earth a barista would bother to write out something nice on a population of students so decidedly… grimy. Especially since they’d probably throw the sleeve away without even noticing it. And remembering all the customers? A total waste of time when they all shouted their orders at Molly anyway.

‘Hey John, that coffee’s for Sherlock. Come over, I’d like you to meet him,’ she reached for the cup in John’s hands, firmly placing it in Sherlock’s grasp. Sherlock quirked an eyebrow at her, surprised at her sudden confidence in talking to a man she so obviously had a crush on. It couldn’t hurt to be cordial to this new friend of Molly’s, especially if it meant she’d stop bothering him when he was trying to work at the back of the shop.

‘Sherlock,’ Molly started, ‘This is John. He’ll also graduate this year from Barts.’

Sherlock dipped his head towards John as the man extended his hand.

‘Hey,’ John smiled as his hand grasped Sherlock’s. ‘I remember you. Stamford lets you in the lab at Bart’s sometimes, doesn’t he? I did a dissection there last summer.’

Sherlock shook, taking in the feeling of John’s warm and callused hand in his. His fingers were shorter but his palms broader than Sherlock’s, engulfing his freezing hand in one slightly coffee stained and granular from the beans.

‘Maybe,’ Sherlock stated as John’s gaze roved thoughtfully over his face and shoulders. He’d forgotten about that, but it was nothing compared to the hope that John had forgotten seeing him at the film screening. Sherlock had turned up late to have Irene scream at him, Irene’s prearranged date for him having scarpered in the opening credits because he wasn’t all that interested in watching a Christmas film without Sherlock to paw at. John had been wearing  a very bright Christmas jumper and hadn’t moved from behind the drinks table for the whole night, Sherlock noticing purely for the fact John had been in his eye line. If he wasn’t watching the film. Which he wasn’t.

‘Stamford’s an alright guy, isn’t he? I used to play rugby with him before he graduated. What do you do in his lab?’ John enquired, his eyes bright and hopeful.

‘I work cases for Scotland Yard. Stamford is the only one that trusts an undergrad is using his lab for work and not research.’ Sherlock murmured, shrugging a shoulder at John. He started to turn away, his coffee scalding the hand it had been clutched in.

‘Hey, so you’re a final year too, are you? Which degree are you doing?’ John smiled, stepping up to the counter to make up for Sherlock’s steps away. Sherlock looked back up at him, stunned ever so slightly by the scattered glow of light playing across John’s truly very blond hair.

‘Chemistry. The one with the included Masters,’ he managed to push out, his tongue suddenly seeming thick in his mouth. He swallowed, glancing at Molly for help.

‘You’re both final years. Thank god, I thought I’d never get you two out of my hair!’ Molly smiled, turning away and winking at Sherlock as she passed. If she noticed the blush spreading up Sherlock’s neck, she didn’t say a word.

Just then Sherlock’s mobile started beeping shrilly, causing him to jump slightly and coffee to slosh out of his cup and onto the counter. Sherlock almost threw the cup down and then went fishing in his pockets, grasping desperately the phone that seemed to be fizzing in his hands.

‘Irene?’ Sherlock sighed as he answered the call, leaning back onto one of the nearby counters. John cleaned around his cup and then pushed it down on the table beside him, retreating back behind the counter to get started on the next order.

‘Where have you been?!’ Irene exclaimed, her cutting voice sliding down the line to Sherlock as he held the phone ever so slightly away from his head.

‘I’m at the coffee place, you know, the one near the library? I’ve been with Graham all afternoon!’ Sherlock huffed.

‘I thought you said his name was George? Anyway, you were meant to be meeting that guy you stood up, and now he’s moaning to me I’ve sent him on a wild goose chase! If you’re not interested in dating could you at least let me know so I don’t have a mopey man following me around?’

‘I didn’t say I wasn’t interested in dating, just that I wasn’t interested in you setting me up!’ Sherlock answered, but Irene only tutted.

‘What are you talking about Sherlock, you know all of my matches have been flawless. You deserve to have someone for your final year!’

‘Except for Victor.’

‘Well, how was I to know he would turn out to be a cheating scumbag with a predisposition to men who could get him drugs? I’m not a mind reader!’ Irene batted back, frustrated.

‘I’ll see you soon, ok? I promise I’ll make it to an event. Look, what’s the next one? I’ll come to that.’

‘You’d better. It’s that lock and key party I told you about, remember?’ Irene sighed as she hung up, her disappointment in Sherlock’s reluctance to join the couple’s life palpable even through the phone line.

Sherlock smiled gently as he hung up, his fondness for the dark-haired beauty not diminished by the fact she was always trying to set him up. Since she’d found Kate she’d been insufferable, convinced that if she could find her perfect match so could he.

‘Girlfriend?’ John enquired, quirking his head towards the phone as Sherlock swung around to sit in the armchair.

‘Friend who is overly invested in my love life, it would appear.’ Sherlock smiled wryly, sinking back into the cushions and raising his cup to his lips.

‘Not interested then, I take it?’ John urged, taking a step back as Sherlock sputtered foam everywhere.

‘In Irene? God no. Not my area.’ He managed to get out after a quick cough, murmuring into his coffee as he looked over the rim of the cup at John. John smiled, the corner of his mouth turning up in a smirk.

‘So, a boyfriend then?’ John pushed, and Sherlock snorted, blowing yet more foam across his coffee. God, he really was making an embarrassment of himself, wasn’t he?

‘No. Not unless you count one drug addicted ex who I found in my bed with his dealer, no.’

‘Shit, that’s rough. I’m sorry.’ John looked up from the counter he was cleaning, a small frown on his face.

‘Yeah, well. I’m not. He’s gone now, anyway. Turns out drugs and exams don’t go too well together.’ Sherlock rushed out, finishing his coffee in one fell swoop to avoid John’s reaction.

‘I’d better go, anyway. Should probably take Irene a muffin or something, keep her quiet. On second thought she wouldn’t want me thinking she’s too skinny.’ Sherlock moved towards the door, swirling a still sodden but now slightly warmer scarf around his neck and popping his collar up. ‘See you tomorrow. Molls, John,’ he raised a hand in farewell.

‘You’ll be in tomorrow?’ he heard John asked, but he continued out the door when he heard Molly answer.

‘He’ll be here tomorrow. And the day after that. And every morning, and every evening, probably until after he graduates.’

Sherlock allowed himself the smallest of grins as he left. So, the barista wanted to see him again, did he? Even after he had spilt his coffee everywhere like that besotted woman.  And blown foam everywhere.

It wasn’t until Sherlock had reached home that he realised he was still holding his cup, empty as it was. A cup with a cardboard label. And Molly had mentioned John wrote compliments, didn’t he? He peeled the holder off carefully, looking in vain for any message, but all he could see was a scrawl of ‘Sherlock’. Oh no, wait, there, written in tiny cramped handwriting so small he’d almost missed it:

_‘Hope you enjoyed Love Actually. Your concentrating face is cute.’_

 

 

 


	2. The House Blend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Sherlock decides to stay a little longer, it's to get work done.

The next day Sherlock made sure he was in the café on time, looking slightly more put together than the rain had allowed him to the day before. He’d somehow managed to artfully tame his curls and dry out his coat so the collar popped crisp and firm, his bag properly shut and not overflowing. He’d finally cleaned out his pockets as well, so worse come to worst John wouldn’t see the heaving pile of stuff he kept in them. Even though he’d prepared so thoroughly, he still managed to be annoyed as he entered the shop, the line already stretching around the tables.

‘It’s barely even lunchtime, what are these people even doing here?’ he blustered at Molly, once he’d finally beaten the queue to reach the front counter. It had given him a good amount of time to stare at John’s forearms though- he was clearly going to be a surgeon.

‘It’s just after Christmas, Sherlock, and people are looking for sales! Honestly,’ Molly tutted, holding her hand out for the note Sherlock stuffed in it. ‘The new blend? I thought we agreed you hated all of the originals the shop came up with,’ she remarked, pausing as she went to write his name on his coffee sleeve, and Sherlock considered, watching the skill with which John was handling the machine before nodding. ‘Alright, but blame him if you don’t like this one, it’s not my job any more,’ she said, jerking a thumb over her shoulder at the barista.

‘I’ll blame these godforsaken crowds for messing up my usual order.’ Sherlock muttered, casting a disparaging eye over the couples all wrapped warmly and chivvying each other towards the armchairs.

Molly rolled her eyes, grimacing slightly as she placed Sherlock’s sleeve in the queue for John to make. ‘Yeah well you’re not the one having to serve them all. I swear if I have to make another gingerbread spiced whatever or write out the code for a triple latte with six syrups and soy milk I will just drink it myself instead.’

‘You don’t like gingerbread.’

‘You don’t like the new blends, whatever we do with them.’

‘You find all the syrups too sweet.’

‘Even the one I ordered especially for Christmas, you hated.’

‘You’re allergic to soy milk.’

‘You’re just ordering it because you want John to prove he can make something other than mass generated coffees.’

Sherlock grinned as Molly’s eyes narrowed, finally having sussed him out. She sent him a triumphant smile as she rang up the next customer, watching him fold himself over the end of the counter.

‘Hello again!’ John’s cheery voice piped up as he swung around from the machine, expertly placing two mugs and a to-go cup on the table. ‘One hot chocolate with caramel, extra cream for Jessica? Two chai lattes for Eleanor and … Lara?’ he shouted, watching amused as three girls battled their way towards him through the crowd.

‘It’s Laura,’ one of them crooned, twisting a lock of blonde hair around one finger as her hand settled over John’s on the cup.

‘Sorry, Laura,’ John replied easily, turning back to Sherlock and missing the flustered look the girl sent him.

‘You’re here late, aren’t you? I don’t normally see you till the evening rush,’ John enquired, flashing a grin over one shoulder at Sherlock.

‘I’ve seen you here once in the rush!’ Sherlock snapped, and John shrugged, spinning around easily with another few cups and passing them off to a harried looking businessman.

‘Yes, you’ve seen me once, but I’ve seen you loads of times. You normally sit over there by Molly, in the green chair, yeah? I used to sit up in the blue one the other side when I was studying for finals but you always had the table when I came in late.’ John raised his eyebrows, smirking slightly at the look of shock on Sherlock’s face.

‘So, no compliments today then?’ Sherlock supplied, changing the conversation quickly to disguise the fact he hadn’t noticed someone else had been after his desk.

‘Only for the special ones. The rest are just getting the stupid foam designs, even getting some requests, y’know? Hearts, flowers, that kind of stuff,’ John replied, one hand expertly heating the milk as he prepared two mugs.

Three more customers approached the desk and Molly turned, grabbing the jug off John and twisting easily to top up three more mugs as he slid towards the counter in what was obviously a practiced move. ‘One house blend, three hot chocolates and a lemon tea,’ John said as he smiled up at the three girls approaching. Molly tossed John an easy grin, patting his arm as she slid out the hot chocolates and the tea, calling four names and then turning to pass Sherlock his.

‘Good afternoon, what can I get you ladies?’ John smiled, Sherlock watching as his gaze swept expertly over the customers.

‘Can we have three soya chai lattes, please? And can you do the foam art?’ the first girl asked, jumping slightly as John nodded.

‘Thanks John, you’re the best! Told you he’d do it girls!’ She shrieked, turning to look back at the two girls flanking her. ‘And you know, you could always put your number on the sleeve, if you wanted. I mean, that lock and key party is coming and y’know we could just go together…’ she trilled, placing her hand on John’s arm as he put the coins in the register.

‘Sorry girls, sort of ruins the fun, doesn’t it?’ John grimaced, a false smile stretching his lips as he turned away to get the drinks started.

‘Honestly that’s the sixth time that’s happened today and we’re not even half as busy as normal. He’s going to be great for business when everyone comes back from term,’ Molly whispered conspiratorially in Sherlock’s ear. ‘He’s had requests for his number, for those stupid loveheart messages, one girl even started singing ‘Santa Baby’ at him, can you imagine?’

Sherlock grimaced, pulling his cup towards him. ‘Are they talking about Irene’s event, the New Year one? Do people really have nothing better to do on New Year’s Eve?’ he said.

‘Oh but it’s so romantic,’ Molly sighed, ‘You choose a gender and then get a lock or a key and you have to find your match and it’s New Year’s, Sherlock, think of all those countdown kisses!’ Molly smiled dreamily, her elbow sliding off the edge of the table as her mind wandered.

‘Heard you promised Irene you’d be there anyway, Sherlock,’ John piped up, wandering over to the two of them now the rush has dissipated.

‘I’m going as her friend, not because I have some grand delusions about finding the love of my life and kissing them to the sound of Jools Holland,’ he sneered, but John just chuckled. Sherlock grit his teeth and sent a glare in John’s direction, but then leaned back and perched on the table behind him. ‘It’s not like there’s going to be many prospects, are there? Who’d want a lanky git for a first kiss?’ he muttered bitterly, frowning down at his coffee.

There was a heart floating in the foam. An honest to god heart, like he was some kind of simpering schoolgirl.

‘Well, I’ll be there. Maybe you can giggle as Molls and I cut some moves on the dancefloor, eh Molly?’ John said offhanded, shouting to be heard over the din.  ‘You want a muffin, stay in and eat?’ John asked, gesturing at Mrs Hudson’s display of wares. ‘On the house, seeing as you seem to singlehandedly be paying my wages.’

Sherlock looked up, his head already slightly to the left to behind his trademark head shake when he saw the easy grin on John’s face. It wouldn’t be hard to stay, would it? He had an hour till his next appointment and his laptop in his bag, he could easily do some research in the corner until he had to leave.

‘Yeah fine,’ he said, and John beamed as he chucked a chocolate muffin at him.

‘Go sit down, I’ll bring you a refill if you finish,’ John gestured, Sherlock’s classic armchair now vacated.

Sherlock left, the lingering feeling of John’s gaze on his shoulders as he turned. He’d never appreciated the view his chair had given him- he could shout at Molly for more coffee, there was no-one behind him to ‘accidentally’ spill their drink in his curls, and he had a perfect view of John as he whipped elegantly around the kitchen, drinks flying out efficiently as he grinned at each customer.

It was a nice day for shopping, Sherlock mused. He could appreciate why some people would choose to go about in the cold air, all wrapped up warm and holding hands with their sweethearts as they battled the wind. It looked like some sort of Hallmark scene, couples with ruddy noses and red cheeks walking in the weak sunshine, a few lingering puddles providing great entertainment for those who chose to jump over them or splash around.

Sherlock pulled his laptop out onto his lap and fired it up, spreading several lots of paper out on the table in front of him. He pushed his Belstaff off and over the back of his chair, unwinding his scarf as carefully as he could so as not to disturb the last few droplets that had collected in the wool from the wind. He didn’t have to meet his supervisor for an hour, he could spend some of it here- maybe 20 minutes to show Molly he did actually get some work done here and he wasn’t just lonely, 40 minutes max.

It was easy to get all too involved in his work, the background fading into a steady stream of noise almost comforting in its predictability. There was Molly’s quiet voice, John’s authoritative timbre, the hiss of the machines and the clattering of the mugs and cups. The crowds were beginning to thin inside and migrate outside into the weak winter sunshine, the lunchtime rush finishing. He had just two easy paragraphs of this blasted report to finish for Lestrade and then he could relax, safe in the knowledge his supervisor couldn’t berate him for not finishing his project if he was doing actual paid work.

‘One house blend refill, Sherlock!’ John offered, suddenly appearing at Sherlock’s elbow. ‘You’ve been tipping your cup up continuously for the last ten or so minutes, I figured you couldn’t be bothered to order another one,’ John said as Sherlock whipped round, a look of confusion on his face as John offered up a new large takeaway cup.

‘Shit!’ Sherlock muttered, grabbing his things as he stood to go. ‘Sorry, I have a meeting, well, I did, five minutes ago, supervisor, shit shit shit!’

John reached down, sweeping Sherlock’s papers into an easy pile as he straightened, placing them into Sherlock’s hand as he struggled with his scarf.

‘Here, hang on, I’ve got you,’ John smiled, smoothing Sherlock’s coat along his shoulders and pushing his collar up for him. ‘Emphasise your ridiculous cheekbones, you daft man. Go on, go, I figured you had to go hence the takeaway cup.’ John winked, a warm palm guiding Sherlock’s shoulder towards the door.

‘No, wait, hang on,’ and John grinned, oblivious to Sherlock’s frustration as he leaned in.

‘What? Why are you –‘ Sherlock’s voice faded as John got closer, his hand coming up to Sherlock’s cheek as he held his face still.

‘You’ve got foam!’ John smiled, a little warily as he swiped a blot of cream off of Sherlock’s top lip with his thumb. John smiled, his eyes meeting Sherlock’s as Sherlock froze, his heart stuttering away in his chest at John’s proximity. His gaze then dropped to his thumb, his other hand still cradling Sherlock’s cheek, his smile sliding off his face as Sherlock’s breath rushed out. John was so close, and he looked so good, his navy blue staff jumper doing wonders for his eyes and defining his gorgeous shoulders. Sherlock had never even been a shoulders man, but by God was he now. John’s lips parted, his gaze darting up to Sherlock’s mouth as if he was about to say something, and that was it; John’s hand slid back down to his shoulder and patted it.

‘Well, um, off you go then. Don’t want to keep your special someone waiting-‘ John rasped, leaning past Sherlock and not meeting his eye as he went to collect his cup. ‘Oh and um, here, you might want this,’ he reached, sliding a second sleeve onto Sherlock’s drink.

Sherlock blinked, and it felt like the first time in a long time- God, why were his eyes so dry? And why was John Watson so golden?! He turned, stumbling a hasty retreat as he made it towards the door, only remembering at the last second to lean back and yell ‘Supervisor John, not special at all!’ as he waved a hand in farewell. If he saw John’s fond smile as he left, he’d have had to have admitted to himself he’d been waiting for his reaction- but it kept something warm lodged in Sherlock’s chest all day anyway.

He strode across the road to the main campus, coat billowing as he supped down the first few sips of his drink. It actually wasn’t half bad, a dark, nutty flavour Molly tended to avoid. A sort of salty twang to it, as if he’d drank it directly off of John’s skin, and now, wasn’t that an idea? Sherlock shook his head to clear it. There would be no point in pining over a cute barista who’d just been friendly to him. He pulled the sleeves off the cup, read to put them in the recycling when his eyes caught a second and third message.

 

_‘ :-) You should smile more often. You’re gorgeous when you do.’_

_‘It’ll be nice to see you outside of work for once.’_ with a little diagram of a lock and a key.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! As usual, let me know what you want to see.
> 
> The chapter count has gone up to 4, potentially 5, but I'm aiming to get this complete by New Year!


	3. The Lock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tiny bees...

When Sherlock made it in the next day it was to a crowded shop once again, Molly and John working in near perfect synchronicity as John whipped up drinks and Molly rattled through orders. It was almost a work of performance art, the way Molly twirled around John to put more sleeves down as he slid three mugs across the counter. John was focussing hard, scribbling away compliments on sleeves and from the grins people were giving their cups, creating more latte art. Sherlock had almost decided to come back later or maybe even visit the dreaded Moriar-teas on campus when John came out from behind the counter to put a drink in his hand.

‘Saw you coming. Your usual armchair is free, the bag on it is Molly’s,’ he said, already turning back to the counter as Sherlock processed what he’d said. He watched in awe as they cleared the queue customer by customer, slipping his drink slowly. He was almost at the bottom of his cup when he realised he hadn’t seen if John had put anything in the foam and he could just make out some sort of tiny smiley face and a now swirled up word. Curious, he turned it around, jumping slightly as Molly flopped into the chair next to him.

‘Working out what John wrote?’ Molly smiled weakly, fanning her apron on her face.

‘It looks like a bug?’ Sherlock questioned, sliding his cup over to her in the vain attempt to understand whatever John was weaving into everyone’s cups.

‘Oh ooooh, you got a special one!’ Molly squealed, turning to grin at John as he bustled around behind the counter. ‘He normally only does the stupid loveheart messages, you know, ‘Hot Stuff’, hearts, a couple of stars! I’ve never seen him do one that complex.’ Molly smiled, sinking back into the cushions as she shrugged. ‘He must be testing stuff out on you.’

‘That’s a first,’ Sherlock frowned. ‘Normally I’m the one experimenting.’

‘Yeah well with the requests he’s getting, he’ll be too busy to experiment on you again, don’t worry,’ At Sherlock’s questioning look, she continued, ‘People are getting far too into this lock and key idea of Irene’s. They want to know if he’s going to pick up a lock or a key, whether he can mould a clue into their cream, if he can write his number instead of a compliment, if he’s looking for a date to his grad ball, all sorts.’

‘Well I’m off again, this was supposed to be my break but it’s too busy now. Stick around a while, won’t you? I want to talk about our plans for Thursday!’ Molly waved as she got back up, her voice drifting away as she started sorting out another customer.

Sherlock cringed slightly into his drink. How foolish he’d been to think he was someone special, that John had been writing personalised notes just for him. He’d probably said he was looking forward to seeing every girl and guy outside of work, promoting the event. He was on the LGBT committee, after all. And now girls were asking him to give them clues! He wondered briefly what would happen if he picked up the lock to John’s key, closing his eyes to stop the sudden onslaught of images. When he opened them again it was to see John grinning his easy grin (and when had that happened, when had he started categorising John Watson’s smiles?) at a pretty brunette, his hand swirling slightly as he no doubt made her a pretty picture on her drink.

There John was, making easy and confident conversation with everyone around him, just like he’d done with Sherlock. A few more girls clustered around him and John was lost from view, it becoming all too evident how popular he was. As the girls moved off Sherlock thought he saw John’s eyes flick to him and a flash of pain flee across his face but no, that was fleeting fancy, wasn’t it? He’d probably just been on his feet too long.

Sherlock put his cup down, sliding it away from him, the coffee gone cold and grainy in his mouth. Here he was, the village idiot, believing he, the freak, was special, and to the university’s golden boy no less. Gorgeous, compact John Watson who smiled with his eyes and a grin too big for his face, had been polite to him and Sherlock had gone and dared himself to be considered different. He’d decided to wait until it was busy again and he could slink out unnoticed when a cup slid onto his table, his old one being picked up by a decidedly deft hands.

‘Did you like the bee?’ John asked eagerly, his smile almost infectious enough to break into Sherlock’s suddenly somber mood.

‘Bee?’ Sherlock questioned, and John nodded.

‘A bee, and then ‘mine’, geddit? Bee mine?’ Sherlock managed a weak smile and John’s face fell.

‘I er, did you another. Just in case you didn’t see it. Guess I’ll catch you later.’ John’s voice, now decidedly less enthusiastic, was matched by the slump of his shoulders as he turned and walked back to the counter.

Sherlock turned away, his hands dipping down to retrieve the new cup. He had to give it to John, it was an alarmingly delicate bumblebee with a very neat little ‘Mine?’ written along the bottom in powder. He allowed a small laugh to break free then turned to catch John’s eye, rolling his eyes and shaking his head in amusement at the cocky little grin John sent back. It was ridiculous how smug he appeared, a slight tinge of red creeping up the back of his neck as he laughed when he realised Sherlock was still looking.

It wasn’t quite enough to break Sherlock’s mood though, the ever increasing amount of girls hanging around reminding Sherlock every second he was nothing special. He probably wasn’t even the right gender- John was on the LGBT committee but he could be on the very female preferring side of bisexual. Molly was right, John was probably just experimenting and now he knew he could do it, who knows how many excited, besotted girls would be fawning over him. The sudden meteoric rise in the popularity of the café must be due to his messages, after all.

He was just about to up and leave when both Molly and John slid into chairs next to him, the extra barista Mrs Hudson sometimes had run the morning shift clearly coping easily at the desk. There was a bit of a kerfuffle as John pulled his jumper off over his head, exposing a very lean stomach and just a tantalising hint of golden hair.  

‘Thank God for Kirsty,’ John sighed, bringing his feet up as he curled into the chair. ‘Ouch, Molls, what?’ he cried as Molly slapped at his legs.

‘Feet off the chairs Watson! I had to clean them just this morning because of your mucky paws!’  Molly snapped, turning to give Sherlock a weary smile. ‘Kirsty is just here to cover the rush, you know that. You’ve made it really awkward for her, she can’t do either of your stupid cream designs!’

A spark flared hopefully in Sherlock’s chest. Two designs? Was his bee one of them?

He forced his tone to be light- ‘Which ones are those?’ he enquired, but it still came out a little resentful.

‘You know, the star, the ‘hot stuff’ one. Got to guess whether the drink is for them, so it’s a Christmassy star, or for a friend, in which case it’s funny to see them compliment their friend, y’know?’ John, not noticing anything out of the ordinary, carried on. ‘Nothing personal. Some of them are asking for silly things- as if I would want to put my phone number in a stranger’s cup! Mind you, it wouldn’t fit anyway…’ John trailed off as his face turned contemplative.  ‘The bee was a masterpiece though. Thought of you- who else do I know that reads apiary books in a coffee shop- and the rest was simple.’ John’s overpowering, infectious grin was back, and this time it did latch onto Sherlock’s face, a small huffing laugh escaping through his teeth.

‘Really,’ Sherlock teased.

‘Well, after all, I am a master of punnery. Has Molly not told you? I was the one that came up with all the sci-fi puns for Valentine’s Day for the LGBT lot? ‘Yoda one that I want?’ at Sherlock’s blank look, Molly sighed.

‘Star Wars, Sherlock. The one you fell asleep in?’

‘You fell asleep in Star Wars? I am mortally offended! We’ll have to watch it some time, I’ll keep you awake!’ John gushed, only realising what he’d said a second too late and grinning as the flush spread across his cheeks.

‘Anyway boys, we have more pressing issues at hand. The lock and key party. John, you are not to turn up wearing that god-awful rugby hoodie, and Sherlock, could you at least try and make an effort to wear a shirt that fits? I’m scared your chest is gonna burst the seams of your shirt one day and it’ll be an emergency safety pin job.’ Molly grimaced, rubbing her feet.

‘It’s on Thursday, so make sure you’re ready. John, I know you’re closing up that night but we’ll meet you inside the SU at 8, okay?’ with that, Molly pushed her shoes back on and reached for John’s arm. ‘Come on lazy bones. We can’t leave Kirsty up there all the time.’

John shuffled up and out of his chair, pausing by Sherlock’s chair as he went back up to the desk. ‘I’m glad you liked the bee, Sherlock.’ John whispered, smiling down gently at him. ‘Couldn’t give it to just anyone. Had to be someone the pun applied to, you know?’ his eyes flicked nervously across Sherlock’s face, his tongue popping out to whet his lips.

Sherlock’s head whipped round, the blood draining out of his face as he considered what John had said. ‘A-applied?’ he uttered, watching as John moved further and further away.

‘Applied,’ John confirmed softly, and despite the din of the shop it was all Sherlock could hear. It was like John had somehow found a way into his brain, his words echoing around as he smiled briefly, a sudden shock of happiness across his face. The pun applied to him… John wanted him to, what, be his? He swallowed, his tongue thick and heavy in his mouth, lips slightly parted as he tore his gaze away from the barista.

Well, if John was getting a lock or a key at this party, who knows who he’d end up with. Sherlock could rig the game, but what if John was just joking with him? What if Molly had told him that Sherlock was particularly desperate? Sherlock wouldn’t have put it past Irene and Molly to have conspired to get John to show him a little sympathy. Boost his ego a little before their big event. Sherlock Holmes, dating- that surely would get them the press they wanted. He’d have to see.

His last takeaway cup of the evening came with a message too, but how was he supposed to believe anything?

‘ _You make my whole shift better. Talking to you is the highlight of my day_.’ with a tiny little bee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter should be up tomorrow :)


	4. The Key

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock knows it's a ruse, a joke, not real. But what's he going to do about it?

It takes Sherlock forty minutes to decide what to wear, not that he’d ever admit that. He’s supposed to be meeting Molly at 8 but as soon as 3pm comes and goes, he decides thinking is intolerable and he needs to do something, anything, so get ready it is. It takes him an hour to bathe and shave fastidiously (Does John like stubble? Does he prefer his men clean-shaven? He doesn’t have time to grow any facial hair now but he could, perhaps he should mention that?), by which point he’s thoroughly disappointed with the whole endeavour. An hour and forty minutes of wasting valuable time thinking about the stupid John Watson, who is probably just mocking him anyway. If it wasn’t for him Sherlock could have begged off going to this stupid party, stayed in and started the beetle experiment he’s had planned for months. As it stands he’s stuck halfway between slapping John for his pity and snogging him to see how far he’s willing to stretch the charade.

An hour after all of this and he’s finally managed to extract himself from Mrs Hudson, who upon hearing him clattering about had subjected him to a long chat about how she’d wooed her husband and how he mustn’t worry, the lovely young man would be sure to like Sherlock’s attire. She’d then force-fed him scones, petted his hair like he was some stray cat and somehow extracted a promise out of him to be introduced to John at the earliest possibility. Hearing about all of it makes Sherlock feel vaguely ill- it sounds like Mr Hudson, murderer as he was, was still better to Mrs Hudson than John has been to Sherlock. It’s clearly all a ruse and the longer he sits hearing about all the lovely things Mrs Hudson has done, the angrier he gets.

How dare stupid little John Watson think he can pull one over on him, Sherlock Holmes? Did John really think he was so romantically inexperienced that the science of deduction would falter as soon as someone was even nice to him? Those stupid little messages he probably wrote for everyone, his stupid goddamn latte art he was probably planning for one of those insipid blondes that always cooed over him- was Sherlock really supposed to be fooled by that and a few stupid smiles.

He has an hour and a half until he has to meet Molly, it takes him half an hour to walk to the coffee shop and if he confronts John when it’s closing, he can then beg off the lock and key party claiming a broken heart. If he’s particularly withering, perhaps John will admit everything quickly and Sherlock can be back home in just over an hour.

He walks quickly, still in the outfit he’d carefully crafted to have maximum impact. The tight purple shirt that strains just slightly across his chest, the trousers that are slightly too small and thus make his arse look fantastic- he wears it all with pride as he strides angrily towards the shop, Belstaff whirling dramatically. The faster he walks the more his rage builds. This stupid rugby star has been stringing him along for weeks, writing stupid messages and his stupid smile and god, he probably only joined that stupid coffee shop so he could torment Sherlock, didn’t he?

When he gets there, it’s to find the lights dimmed, the closed sign up and John wiping tables down steadily, his bag and coat already strewn over one of the armchairs to leave. When John sees Sherlock’s shadow crossing the door, he looks up and his face fades into a beaming grin.

‘Sherlock! To what do I owe the pleasure? I thought we were meeting at the SU at 8?’ John grins, hurrying forward to unlock the door and usher Sherlock in.

‘I have a few things I needed to say,’ his voice sounds cold, even to him. John walks around the table he’s wiping, landing heavily in a chair and looking up at him with a puzzled smile. The grin has dimmed somewhat though- Sherlock takes it as a given he knows what’s coming. He can’t have thought he’d have gotten away with it.

‘It has come to my attention that whilst I have been visiting my friend, Molly, you have been using it as an opportunity to mock me via the medium of flirting. I do not know why you would do that considering we barely know each other, but rest assured if you are doing it for someone else you can consider me sufficiently hurt and embarrassed and thus desist. I would appreciate if you would not attend the party this evening.’ Sherlock finishes his little speech with a sneer, speaking directly to John’s face.

‘I, I Sherlock, wait,’ John stuttered as Sherlock turned towards the door.

‘I don’t think I have to, do I? It’s clear this whole thing has been a ruse. Perhaps you felt sorry for me? Perhaps it really was a joke at my expense? Either way I want nothing more to do with it. Please feel free to turn your horrific flirting towards one of those idiots that seem so happy to fawn over you at the counter, I know it must have killed you to pretend to be interested in me. I do hope we never meet again.’ With that, Sherlock whirled out of the door, just missing the look of utter devastation on John’s face.

Seeing John had just fuelled the flames. It wasn’t fair that just because he didn’t date, people assumed they could mock and belittle him for people not being interested in him. He could date people if he wanted, he just didn’t care to. It was all a matter of human behaviour and something normally not worth his time but today he was going to show them. He’d go to this stupid party, get with whoever had the key to his lock, and prove to Molly and all those more maliciously-minded that he was single by choice.

He regretted everything. This party was hot and stuffy, the music was some horrifically engineered, saccharine pop song, and to top it all off there were masses of drunk men and women groping at him, trying to see if their keys would fit his lock. So many of them had been stupid enough to try and force their keys, as if they could defy physics and the man holding the lock. A whole contingent of very flamboyant women had turned up around 10.30 and had been taking it in turns to try and seduce him, like he hadn’t already cottoned on to the fact they were just passing time until their boyfriends arrived.

He’d come in determined, grabbed Molly by the arm, shoved a lock into both of their hands and then marched straight up to the bar. He hadn’t even acknowledged John’s presence, barging past without even a second glance at his stupidly puppy dog eyes. Irene had given them the locks anyway, so he’d gotten away with it. With Molly three cocktails in and lost somewhere to a man she’d loudly proclaimed was ‘Gavin, maybe George? Or a Greg?’ Sherlock was now standing against the wall, quietly keeping an eye out for anyone he’d care to claim fit his lock so he could snog them and leave. He only had to make enough of a scene that either Molly or Irene would see him, and then he could leave before the bells of New Year even thought about ringing.

Two hours later, and it was not looking promising. 11.30 had come and gone, and if he wasn’t careful he’d end up kissing some random person on the stroke of New Year just to prove a point. The strangers weren’t even looking promising- clearly everyone with half a brain or an ounce of attractiveness still hadn’t come back off the winter break. Entrance had been stopped at 11 so unless he found someone now, he’d have no chance. He’d lost Irene as well, so it’d have to be a big show to ensure someone saw it, and to be honest, the whole situation was sounding worse and worse. Oh no, now would be worst. With a grimace he noticed a very familiar blond mop moving towards him, and yep, there was the puzzled puppy look John Watson was so famous for, being sent right in his direction.

Fuck.

‘Sherlock, I just wondered, um, if you’re hear me out?’ John started, the words falling out in a rush as he pulled Sherlock around to face him.

‘No key, no luck, Watson,’ Sherlock sneered, looking down at him.

‘Oh yeah, right, here, try this one,’ John passed his key to him, smiling faintly. To Sherlock’s disgust, and to a tiny bit of amazement, the lock slid open easily.

‘You cheated. Well, look at that, goody two shoes cheating at a party to try and pull off his massive practical joke. What’s the matter John, don’t win the bet unless you get into my pants?’ Sherlock turned only to find John’s arms pressed firmly either side of him, caging him in.

‘Look, would you just listen to me? Yeah, I cheated, but it was for a good reason!’

‘Would you just let go of me? I know the bartender and he’d be very happy to class this as assault.’ Sherlock pushed, but John’s forearms remained locked, his white T shirt just emphasising how little effort he was putting in to contain Sherlock.

‘For fuck’s sake! I’m not mocking you you daft bat, I’m in love with you! Shit.’ John shouted, his arms falling down in shock as what he’d just let slip.

‘Oh, a method actor are we? Well done John, I almost believed you! Thank god I was just about to leave!’ Sherlock spat sarcastically.

‘Look, hear me out ok?’ John said, tucking closer to Sherlock as two drunk girls passed by, slopping their beer everywhere. He was careful not to touch Sherlock, obviously trusting he had his attention now.

‘I will admit the first few times I wrote messages to you I was teasing, just a little, but,’ and John held up a hand, ‘I really do like you Sherlock. I meant every message after that. You’re just so comfortable in your own skin and well, it’s dead sexy.’ John blushed a little.

‘You’re kind to Molly, and you’re funny, and most of all you’re so intelligent you could run rings around us all. When you deduced me in the shop I wanted to kiss you right then and there, and a great deal more, too. The more you came in the more I was convinced, but I didn’t want to say anything, you know? I didn’t want you to stop coming.’ John’s blush had taken over his whole face, and he was shuffling slightly, talking to his trainers.

‘I could see why you’d think it was a joke. I mean, what would you want with me, I don’t even have half the brains you do and I’m a barista, for gods sake! I just didn’t mean to hurt you. Um, I guess that’s it. I’m done. I, um, hope you find someone tonight Sherlock,’ and with that John turned away.

Almost without a conscious thought, Sherlock’s hand shot out and grabbed John’s wrist.

‘You’re in love with me.’

‘Um, yep. Sorry.’ John muttered again, his eyes fixed sadly somewhere in the region of Sherlock’s neck.

‘You’re not doing this for a joke, or because someone set you up?’ Sherlock questioned.

‘Um, nope. It feels like some kind of cosmic joke, though, doesn’t it? Me, falling in love for the first time with a man so far out of my league it hurts, and him thinking it’s a joke because I’m so below him?’ John muttered, still not meeting his eyes.

‘Molly didn’t say anything to you? Irene?’ Sherlock hassled, pulling John closer to the wall where it was quieter.

‘Um, nothing. Well, I think Irene saw me palm the key to your lock, but she didn’t say anything. I’m sorry, Sherlock, I just had to do something!’

It was the easiest thing in the world to bridge the gap between the two of them, place one hand on John’s cheek, tilt his chin and kiss him. It was even easier to stay kissing him, John’s hands coming up to clutch in his shirt, Sherlock’s free hand sliding around John’s back to clasp him to his chest. Neither of them even noticed the countdown or the cheers- John was pressed too tightly against him, tongues sliding together as Sherlock lapped gently at John’s bottom lip. When they finally broke apart it was for Sherlock to rest his forehead against John’s, peppering little kisses against John’s grin.

‘I think you’ll find this isn’t a cosmic joke at all, John. I think you’ll find I’m just as in love with you as you find yourself in love with me,’ and with that they surged together again, John’s hand sliding in to pull slightly at Sherlock’s curls, Sherlock’s hands placed firmly on John’s arse as he pulled their hips together.

He was holding John Watson. He had John Watson’s tongue in his mouth, John Watson was in love with him, John Watson wanted him to be his, John Watson had written him love notes. John Watson had the most fantastic arse and it was currently in his hands. John Watson also had a very persistent denim-clad erection poking into his thigh and this was all going to be over far too quickly if he wasn’t careful. John Watson was grinning as he kissed him, and John Watson was kissing him back with such urgency and skill he found himself rather weak in the knees. John Watson was letting out tiny little moans and pressing himself so tightly to Sherlock it was like they’d melded into one person.

‘I think you’ll find I said I was leaving,’ Sherlock purred. ‘I’d rather like it if I left with company.’ he added, grinding his hips ever so slightly against John’s.

If Molly and Irene exchanged a little fistbump over getting their two idiots together, well, nobody saw. Everyone was far too distracted by the two idiots taking a half an hour to cross the floor, groping and snogging as they were. The club hadn’t seen that much action in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it, we're done! Let me know what you think and thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Let me know in the comments what you'd like to see? :)
> 
>  
> 
> I'm also taking prompts for any other works you'd like!


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